9Heads
by I wish I wasn't tone-deaf
Summary: Tomoyo and Sakura stayed cousins and never best friends. Their personalities mis-matched. Loud and popular Sakura. Nobody ever thought she was related to the mousy designer heiress, Tomoyo. Their counterpart: Meiling and Syaoran. Every time the stiletto-clacking Mei was in the same room as her fashion disaster cousin, Syaoran, sirens whirled in her head. The fashion police called.
1. Sketch 1: Pleasure Meeting You, Again

Disclaimer: I do not own Cardcaptor Sakura

Full (Working) Summary:

Sometimes people rip apart or sew closer. Tomoyo and Sakura stayed cousins and never best friends. Their personalities mis-matched. Loud and popular Sakura. Nobody ever thought she was related to the mousy designer heiress, Tomoyo. Their counterpart: Meiling and Syaoran. Every time the stiletto-clacking Mei was in the same room as her fashion disaster cousin, Syaoran, sirens whirled in her head. The fashion police called. Sheriff Eriol proceeds, "You have the right to wear Ralph Lauren. Every thing you can, do, and say will have girls falling to your feet."

In one knotted thread, together they untangle their designs.

Word Count: 5,000~

**9Heads**  
Sketch 1: Pleasure Meeting You, Again

_I'm looking for a saw to cut these chains in half and all I want is_

_Someone to rely on as_

_Thunder comes a rolling down_

_Someone to rely on as_

_Lightning comes a staring in again_

_\- _To Binge, Gorillaz feat. Little Dragon

* * *

On a cold, dark, stormy night, the thunder rolled, lightning crashed, and Sakura held her dog, Kero. That's how it usually starts. Sakura predicted at any moment that this was the part where her small, cozy house would black-out. Then, suddenly, the psycho-ass killer would chase her around her small house and kill her and Kero and everything would be blamed on a freak accident that happened on a cold, dark, stormy night.

In reality, the lights didn't fuse out…Yet. Although, it should have. Her poor father had a high electricity bill to pay; simply because his daughter flipped on every light in the house before watching a scary movie by herself.

She snuggled deeper in her couch and held Kero closer until he squeaked. She jumped at his frantic squeal, while he wiggled out of her grip into Kami-sama-knows-where. His tiny dog footsteps pitter-pattered across the tiles, until-

THUD!

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

She shrieked. She jumped. Goosebumps crawled. She slapped her hands over her face and plopped on her couch. What the hell was that thud?!

Okay, maybe she's being a bit dramatic. Perhaps Kero slammed into a wall. It happens. Kero came back, barking at the intruder that could have possibly harmed Sakura, but he found none. Just as dogs do, he sensed her vulnerability and climbed on the couch, snuggling up beside his owner. Good dog.

"Sorry, Kero," she rubbed his head. His eyes squinted and blinked. He yawned and slowly drifted off to sleep. It was about time Sakura went to sleep, too. But how could she sleep when she just watched some ape-shit scary movie all alone? She thought it'd be weird and funny, like The Rocky Horror Picture Show. She read the synopsis for Hausu and she yearned to watch the part where the floating head bites the character's buttocks but she got more than she bargained for. Sakura shook her head and finally went up to her VCR and pressed eject. She clasped the rental video case shut and snuggled with Kero.

Her eyelids grew heavy. Her mother used to tell her that fairies sprinkled their fairy dust on her eyelids and that's why they felt heavy. Sakura smiled. Almost there. Nearly dreamland. But the thunder still rolled. More lightning strikes. Sakura glared and her eyes flew open. She wasn't going to get any sleep tonight. But that's okay. Summer wasn't over. Not yet. She had all the time in the world to fix her sleep schedule. At least, until two weeks from now. Ugh. School.

Knock. Knock.

Sakura squirmed on the couch. That wasn't somebody at the door, was it? It was a very faint knock. It could have been the trees brushing up against the window in the stormy night. She stayed frozen but her heartbeat granted the opposite. Maybe if she stayed still "the visitor" would leave. They wouldn't hear a peep. They would leave. Yeah, that's right. Wait, maybe there isn't even a visitor. It's two in the morning. Who would knock at two in the damn morning? Who would be out in the rain and storm in two in the damn morning? Yeah, that's right. Nobody. She was just hallucinating because she's so sleepy.

Knock, knock, knock, knock.

Ugh. She has a doorbell.

Wait. A damn visitor awaits at two in the damn morning in the damn stormy night?!

Kero barked and growled. He jumped and dashed to the door.

THUD!

Okay, that's it. Her dog can't be so clumsy to run into walls all the time.

Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock.

Kero barked and growled.

"Quit it," she shouted at no one in particular. She was getting more pissed than scared. She has a doorbell for crying out loud! Scrambling out of her comfy position on the couch, she shuffled to the door. "Oh," she chuckled, "So, that's where the thudding came from." Her suitcases lay in the foyer, unpacked and knocked down.

DING DONG!

Kero barked and growled.

"There ya go!" she shook her head and chuckled. Found the doorbell! She gripped the doorknob and paused. Who is this damn visitor that awaits at two in the damn morning in the damn stormy night?! It's the killer. It's the ghost. Sakura Kinomoto shall die tonight.

Kero barked and barked. Normally, Sakura would've yelled at Kero and aim a shoe at him; but in this case, she let him bark and growl. She whispered at the barking dog, her final words, "Okay, Kero. Just wanna let you know that I love you, but I'm still not sorry for all the times I ever threw a shoe at you. You deserved it."

He barked as Sakura unlocked and gripped the doorknob. She turned the knob. It clicked and unlatched. Slowly, she opened the door and let her foot nudge the growling Kero out of the way. Through the little slit between the door and the frame, rain stormed and the winds howled, thrashing the trees. Kero's barking: overtaken with the storm's threats. He was still faintly heard. At Sakura's front porch, she gasped. From the head hung low was a curtain of dripping, black hair, an awfully damp trenchcoat to boots. Sakura squinted. Designer boots?

The head held itself high and took a pale hand from beneath the curtain of hair. It flipped the curtain of hair. As some water flew to her face, Sakura jerked. She wiped away the drops of rain. Sakura reached beside the wall to flip on the porch light and adjusted to the sight.

"M-Mei?"

Water dripped from her beautiful, pale face. She ran a hand through her dark, black hair and bent down to collect her long strands. She wrung her hair and smirked her infamous Li smirk, "So, you're back, huh?"

…

Meanwhile, at two in the damn morning, Tomoyo entered a nearly empty, smoky lounge. She shivered and cradled herself as she adjusted to the artificial heat. A bartender glanced at her before moving on to wipe his area of the counter. She would have sat at the counter, but she was frozen at the door. She's not even lawfully allowed in places like this, but the bartenders glanced and moved on. She was dripping wet. She probably looked like a poor puppy.

A barista, who previously tended a customer, eyed the newcomer, and strolled around the island counter. She leaned on the counter and smiled, "Hey, honey. How 'bout you sit right here?" She patted the counter as her new, dripping customer shuffled to the bar stool. The barista wiped her area and grinned, "Needed shelter, huh?"

"Yes, ma'am," She blushed. She shouldn't sound so young at a place like this but she went on, "I'm really sorry. I know shouldn't be anywhere near places such as this, but-"

"Oh, that's alright, sweetie," the barista waved a hand to dismiss her comment, "You look so cold. I'll fix you a drink. Believe it or not, we sell warm drinks here. It's on me until you're old enough." The barista winked, "What's your name, hun? I'm Chikako," she tapped her name tag, "Don't worry, I won't put it on your tab."

"Tomoyo," she blushed and fiddled with her fingers. She didn't bother with her last name. Chikako might recognize it. What female doesn't know of DD? Daidouji Designer?

"Well, Tomoyo, we have a limited selection of warm drinks. Black coffee or green tea? I think tea would be nice, don't you think?" Chikako grinned. Tomoyo nodded. She figured Chikako was merely saving her the trouble of choosing between such bitter, adult tastes. Yet, the young girl sipped even bitter tastes from green tea to white wine, but Tomoyo preferred tea. Chikako tapped the counter, "I'll be right back, hun."

Tomoyo braided her fingers, warming them up. She scanned the lounge. Some bartenders caught her eye and nodded, silently allowing her in the lounge, satisfied one of their friendliest was tending to her. Men in their mid-life crisis vainly flirt with the experienced baristas. Bar flies sat, their backs drooped as bartenders engaged them in minor conversations. Bartenders handed customers the bill and dropped a coin in the jukebox every once in awhile to strike up a song to their liking. Some smoked, but Tomoyo didn't mind. Beside the fact that it filled her with a vacant feeling, reminding her of an absent father. Funny thing is it wasn't daddy problems that led Tomoyo to ignore her morals and step into a 21-and-older bar lounge.

"Here."

She gasped. He raised a hand to his forehead to brush away his dark hair from his glasses. His facial features were hard and behind his glasses, his blue eyes smiled. A foreigner with maybe a touch of Japanese, she noted. He smiled and raised his brows, holding up a towel, "Chikako's busy getting the tea urn in the backroom but she told me to give this to you."

"Thank you," she cradled the towel and patted her face. He sat on the bar stool next to her and watched. Although the towel messed into a wet rag within seconds, she wrung her hair, anyway.

She faintly smiled and muttered again, "Thank you."

"It's nothing," Behind his glasses, his eyes inquired, but his mouth beat him to it, "You're underage, too."

"Ah, too?" she cocked her head to the side. His voice sounded past the point of puberty.

"Bless you," He chuckled and spun in his bar stool. Chikako came around with a cardboard cup in hand and they smiled at each other as Tomoyo muttered a thank you, "Here you go, sweetie. Anything I can get for you, H?"

Tomoyo cradled the cup and let the warmth seep through her fingers. She sipped, watching H and Chikako converse.

"No, thank you, Chikako. I'm good." He smiled and tapped his glass of colorful substances as Chikako nodded. She turned to Tomoyo, "Now, I don't want you leaving until you finish your tea, ya hear?"

Tomoyo-with her cup midway to her mouth-nodded. Chikako smiled as a big sister would and cleaned the inner counter.

The said 'H' turned to Tomoyo and smiled politely, sensing her tense. Tomoyo learned not to be too friendly with strangers. She was never told about the ones she met in bars; but this time, she heeded the morals and manners she ignored a moment ago. He watched her tense and fidget in her bar stool, but he spoke anyhow, "Quite the tempest today, isn't it?" He saw her nod in the corner of her eye, "But you were out there. If I remember correctly, Circle Bar is far from Tomoeda's suburbia."

"I frequent the metropolis for business purposes," she sipped and sighed. She didn't catch his eyebrows rising at such a formal answer, but even if it did sound formal, the young girl was callous to it. She had to talk this way as a Daidouji. But to lie, well, that was only as Tomoyo would.

"Ah," he nodded and sipped his drink.

She felt the need to speak up, "But this time, it wasn't." His glass was still poised to his mouth. He glanced from the corner of his eye as she spoke, "This time, I-uh-it was," she sighed, "complicated."

"Alright, then."

"B-but I do frequent the metropolis for business. I mean, today I met up with my mother and her associates to discuss my portfolio, but later I met up with a friend," she paused. Never in her life has she rambled about her personal life to a total stranger. In a bar at that.

He nodded and turned to her, face-to-face, his blue eyes inquiring again, "Tell me more."

"Um," she tapped a finger to her chin and when she came to, she cast her eyes down, "but my friend had to meet up with someone."

"I was talking about your portfolio. I don't care about your friend."

She raised a brow with her mouth agape. How rude. But he looked callous to any offense he made. She stuttered, "I-uh, my portfolio. Well, I design."

"Hmm."

"Haute couture clothes or ready-to-wear. Formal or semi-formal. Anything I feel."

He grunted. She glared and pouted at her cup. She sipped away at her tea. It wasn't until she heard an impolite slurping sound out of her mouth that she noticed she was done with her drink. Why did he even come and talk to her anyway? Yet, she had the strangest urge to prove to him. To prove that she was as interesting as she definitely knew she was, "The gold and platinum tower with 36 stories is where I frequent," she gestured a rectangle and he finally turned to her. She went on, "You know that one? It's gorgeous."

"The one with the high ceiling and chandelier, right?" Wow, he talks.

"Yes, that one!"

He smirked, "All of them have a high ceiling and chandelier."

She pouted and hunched, "Oh."

"The one with the stained glass at the top floor, right?"

She slightly glared and cautiously answered, "Yes."

He nodded, "It's beautiful. Modern outside but a taste of Romanesque architecture when you step inside. I've been there."

"Oh, good! It's a bit gothic and Imperial-like, isn't it?" she gleamed, but he stepped off his bar stool.

He reached into his wallet and pulled out a tip for the counter, "Wanna get out of here?"

…

"I feel like I've been bitch-slapped, I swear. My life sucks. What a bitch. Ugh."

"Life's a bitch," Sakura sighed and handed Meiling a cup of tea. Almost routinely, Meiling grabbed her spoon, reached for the sugar jar, and scooped two teaspoons of sugar. She sipped, "Chamomile."

Sakura chuckled, "Yeah."

Meiling grinned before pouting again. She glared at her new suede boots by the heater. The color began fading. She read the weather report earlier but she wore her boots anyway. She promised herself to be cautious, but she granted herself the opposite. The only thing that cheered her up was the nostalgia that flooded her senses. Sakura's house was just as it had been two years ago. Mustard yellow walls and easter-egg pink curtains here and there. Smaller than she remembered but that's because she grew up. Kero grew. Sakura grew. Sakura's hair was still in a bob but it was still cute enough to suit her. The old grandfather clock still ticked in the kitchen. The Chamomile that Sakura always kept handy wafted into her nose. Meiling sighed.

"Hitomi's a bitch," Meiling continued.

Sakura grunted. Just as Meiling remembered, Sakura wasn't one to gossip, but Meiling knew her old friend was like any other girl that yearned for some smack talk with a perky ear.

Meiling scoffed, "Her tongue was down his throat and she looked right at me. Disgusting. She frenches with her eyes open."

"Crazy," Sakura shook her head. Kero pitter-pattered across the linoleum tiles and wagged his tail at Meiling. She patted his head as she went on, "I knew she was up to something. She didn't wanna hang out when I came back from China. And I saw her at the mall last week and the little tramp was with some guys from TA." She scoffed, "That little bitch pretended she didn't know me."

"You've been duped."

"I know, right?" Meiling sipped her tea and nodded her chin at the suitcases in the foyer, "So, you're back, but where's your hot tamale of a brother?"

"Still on Seijuu. Honeymooning with Kaho. He's moving out by the end of this week."

"Aw, well , that's nice. Did you get back to the mainland today?"

"I took the last trip at eight and came back at ten. I went to the rental store and picked up a movie. Hausu. Have you seen it?"

"Scary shit, man."

"Damn right."

They smiled and dashed to the couch. Sakura popped the tape into the VCR.

…

Tomoyo yawned and stretched. She smiled lazily at the view from the wall-converted window. She liked Hiira's taste in apartment décor. Very mod and simple. But strangely, it leaned toward a place of design than one of comfort. Far from the metropolis and set in the outskirts of Tomoeda's suburbia, yet the metropolis' lights-green, yellew, red, blue, purple, pink-still shone bright despite the rain.

The warm apartment made her eyelids heavy. When Tomoyo was little, and her mother wasn't too busy, she stayed in Tomoyo's room until she was asleep. She used to say that was when fairies sprinkled their fairy dust to make her sleep. She touched the cold window and smiled.

"Tomoyo, is it?"

She turned around. H set a tray with a teapot and crystal-clear cups on his coffee table. She gripped her wet dress and bit her lip. She knew she shouldn't get in a car with a total stranger, but at the bar, when H opened the passenger door of his Mercedes Benz, she plugged her mind's ear to her conscious voice. She sat down and brushed her hair behind her ear, "Yes, it's Tomoyo."

"Great, I'm Hiira, by the way." He set bundled forms of dried blossoms into each of their cups.

"Short for?"

"No, let's call it long. Long for H," he bent down beside Tomoyo in front of the coffee table and gestured to the teapot, "Will you do me the honors?"

She reached for the teapot, "Is this what I think it is?"

"I don't know, Tomoyo. You tell me," he shrugged and stretched his arm on his leather couch. His arm by her shoulders, his thigh next to hers, but tonight, she couldn't care less.

She poised her wrist with the teapot over each cup. The cups soon filled with steaming water to the brim. She smiled, then bit her lip as she watched the flower unbundle and bloom in the steaming water. The water darkened into a golden taupe. She laid the teapot on the table and cradled the cup. The smell wafted into her nose. She sighed, "Jasmine."

"Ah," he cradled his own cup and sipped, "Experienced in tea culture?"

"No, I've just witnessed flowering Jasmine tea once to classify it at the instant," she sipped, "It's good."

He sat up on his couch, laid his teacup on his table, and stared her in the eye. She smiled. He whispered, "I only have the best."

She wondered if that was an advance and if it was, she decided to ignore it, "Yes, it's very good," she inquired about something she wondered since she met him, "You said you were underage, too."

He cleared his throat, sat back, and stretched his arms over his couch again, "Yes, I went in for shelter, too. I didn't think I'd find one of my own age in there, but all is well that ends well."

"People only say that when they've triumphed from an unfortunate situation," she finished the last of her tea and laid the cup on the table. She braided her hands on her lap and adjusted to face him.

"Ah," he chuckled, "You're an observant one. Although, I wouldn't say triumphed."

"What happened?" she cocked her head to the side.

"I should be asking you that."

"You said you didn't care about my friend."

"So, it's about your friend."

"Uh," she sighed, "Yes."

She cautioned herself, wondering if he would interrupt her again. She gripped her fingers, bracing herself. She went for it, "Well, today, I finally decided to confess my feelings for him."

"Ah," he scratched his cheek, looking elsewhere. She noted his calculated space-cadet frequencies. She glared as he yawned. He continued, hazy eyed, "Did you?"

"I did," she replied, glaring, but not to anything in particular.

"Did you achieve your intended effect?"

She failed to meet his eyes. Her own prepared to smother her with tears. He reached for his table and grabbed a remote. He aimed and pushed a button. Suddenly, a mellow, tropical-like song sounded in a stereo from the other side of the living room.

She laughed, "Elton John?"

He reached for his tea and sipped, "I like him."

"Well, that was so unexpected," She added, finally out of her trance, "Do you always do this? Pop out the flowering tea and play Elton John to get the mood right?"

"To get the mood right? For what?" He stretched on the couch again with a smirk.

"For," her breath hitched in her throat. Really? For what? She tried to make him catch her drift "That's why you bring girls home. In order to do these things. You're underage but you've got your own place. I don't see any trace of anyone else. Thus, you have the freedom to take girls home and…do stuff."

He laughed, "I just moved in. But even so, yes, I do live alone."

Alone. She pitied him. He lived alone. She lived alone but there were still people that came home to her.

He continued and brushed away his black hair from his glasses, "What were you expecting? That I'd sweep you off your feet and into the bedroom?"

She blushed. Was she wrong? But even if she was right, she didn't want that thing to happen. That thing. Or maybe she did want it to happen. She was lonely after all. Her eyes drifted elsewhere and goosebumps crawled on her skin as if Hiira's heater turned off. Her best friend ditched her for another. She confessed. 'I like you,' she said earlier that night, right in the pouring rain, 'for the longest time, but I couldn't tell you. Yet, I cannot do nothing with this feeling'. Her best friend pitied her. Even with pity, his beautiful face still managed to glow under the streetlight. Mr. strong-but-silent. The one that all the girls drooled over but he never took the time to talk to them. He was the only one that talked to her despite the dreary way she dressed that contrasted with all the wealth she possessed. Tonight, she even dressed nice for him. She rushed to the salon, had her hair curled. She even used one of her designs. Her best lavender tea length dress with patent-leather, black stilettos. Unfortunately, he didn't see the full effect as it was covered with a trenchcoat and the rain ruined her hair. 'I'm sorry. My girlfriend needs me', he said. Out of nowhere, he says he has a girlfriend and he dashes off as valiantly as a knight into the rain and she's left alone. Walking in the rain, numb to the cold sting striking her skin. That wasn't Tomoyo. She was graceful and poised. She's a lady. And ladies never confess, first. To leave so quickly, he must have wanted to leave her with dignity. But Tomoyo didn't feel any dignified being degraded to let a stranger ride her to his place.

Too much happened tonight and she couldn't take it all in. She wished she could sleep right then and there in some stranger's expensive, but cozy penthouse. Her eyes grew hazy but she stared at Hiira, face-to-face, with a longing look, "That wasn't it?"

He blinked, unsure of what he heard or what it meant from her lips. She looked sleepy but satisfied a moment ago, then in her entranced state she looked tired as if she fought an inner battle and lost. Now, she looked a little lusty to him or maybe it was just his hormones decoding her incorrectly. An Adele song played throughout the room and she turned away and bit her lip.

_Daydreamer_  
_Sitting on the sea _  
_Soaking up the sun_

And then she gets news that her father earned a shorter sentence for good behavior. Within three months, just in time for Christmas, she won't have to visit him in a dreary prison visiting center. But how is she going to face him when her mother told her not to?

_He is a real lover_  
_Of making up the past_  
_And feeling up his girl_  
_Like he's never felt her figure before_

He stood to his feet and picked up the tray to disappear into the kitchen. She heard dishes clink and the sink run on and off. He came back with his hands in his pockets. He leaned on the doorframe, watching the entranced girl, "Do you like Adele, Tomoyo?"

_A jaw dropper_  
_Looks good when he walks_  
_Is the subject of their talk_

She nodded and sighed. He noted her regress into defeated-battle mode. She fished her trenchcoat pocket for a scrunchie and collected her hair into a bun. She sat back and gathered her legs together on the couch. Her head laid back, she brushed away her bangs from her forehead, closed her eyes and opened her ears to the rain and Adele.

_He would be hard to chase_  
_But good to catch_  
_And he could change the world_  
_With his hands behind his back_

Her mother flew to Singapore for a fashion show and she isn't close enough with anybody to ask for advice in this situation. What is she doing here? She doesn't know, except that she's a good girl and nobody really cares. Mother's too busy, father's out of the question, Sakura was just a cousin-not a best friend and her best friend-well, he was just as out-of-the-question as her father.

_You can find him sittin' on your doorstep_  
_Waiting for a surprise_

She felt the leather couch degrade and his warmth seep through the leather to her skin. They don't touch. But the warmth is intimate enough to make her turn her head at him. He pitifully raised his brows. He managed to smile into straight-lips. It failed to reach his eyes as if emphatically understanding everything she's going through.

She smiled in return for his pity, "So, you don't take girls home?"

"I take them home to their house."

She closed her eyes and whispered, "What a gentleman."

He whispered in return, "Shall I take you home?"

She pouted and swallowed the lump in her throat, "Listen, Hiira. I usually don't do these kinds of things. I never do this. Letting a stranger take me to their place, consume Jasmine tea, listen to Elton John and Adele, and then let them charm me when they've barely done anything worthy. If I were to do this kind of thing, I never imagined it with you."

"That friend of yours. He's lucky. But not lucky enough to be your significant other."

Tomoyo once again swallowed the lump in her throat but a tear escaped. She wiped it away and nodded. "Really? Who's the unlucky one?" she asked. She was unfortunate enough not to be the girlfriend, just lucky enough to be the friend.

_And he will feel like he's been there for hours_  
_And you can tell that he'll be there for life_

He reached and cupped her face. His thumb stroked her cheek and she let him edge closer. Noses just inches away, she suddenly leaned her mouth to her arm. He jumped as she sneezed. Her arm over her reddened cheeks, she mumbled, "Sorry."

He chuckled, still cupping her cheek, "It's fine." Instead, he kissed her forehead. Soft, warm, and chaste.

She read her watch. Nearly dawn. She could just stay with Hiira. What's the point in going to an empty mansion at daybreak? She's been in his place for nearly two hours. What difference does it make?

"Hiira," she managed to speak as his hand slid to her shoulder, his thumb stroking her collarbone.

"Tomoyo."

To his surprise, she cupped his face and kissed his cheek. She ran a hand through his dark, black hair while he traveled a hand between her shoulder blades, the other to the small of her back. She let him lay her down on the couch as he placed his knee between her legs. He propped his elbows on each side of her while letting her bun loose, releasing her long, wavy hair. They stared into each other's eyes and that's when he noticed her eyes had a hint of purple, almost Elizabeth Taylor-like. They yearned. Her heart hurt but not from her best friend's rejection, but from longing. Was it Hiira or her best friend that she wanted? All she knew is that she wanted to make time stop. She stroked her thumb on the back of his neck. She whispered, "I-I, Hiira-"

"Shh," he edged closer to her face but she spoke again, "No, Hiira-"

He stopped at her refusal while her cheeks reddened. She bit her lip, "-I've never had my first kiss before."

He blinked as if analyzing whether or not she was urging him to take her first kiss. He endearingly smiled and edged closer again. She didn't know if this was the part where she was supposed to turn her head to the right as sociologists have previously recorded that 80% of people usually turn to, or if she was supposed to pucker her lips. If she was, then how much puckering would she have to do? But instead of the kiss on the lips she was waiting for, Hiira gingerly kissed her cheek and let his warm lips linger on her cold skin.

He came up to stare her in the eyes as he edged again. His lips nearly came in contact with hers, with his warm breath he whispered, "Then, I won't be the one to take it away."

Swiftly, he released himself from her. He stood to his feet. Her mouth agape, she watched him walk into a room. Was that it? Mind over matter, her lips were swollen at the kiss she was expecting. Despite Hiira kissing one cheek, both of her cheeks were heated. She sat up and eyed her trenchcoat and the weather outside. The rain still pounded. Would it be worth it to leave? Suddenly, Hiira came back with a pillow and a fleece blanket. He handed it to her and took off his glasses. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, "You can sleep here if you like. I promise I won't do anything to you but if it's the other way around, then too bad." He pointed his thumb at the room he came out of, "My door will be locked."

He smirked and headed to the room. It wasn't until she heard him close his door and lock the knob that his joke registered in her mind. She scoffed and threw the pillow on the edge of the couch. She stretched the blanket over her and laid her head on some stranger's pillow. His scent lingered in the pillow. It was all over. She couldn't sleep now. The thought that she was so close to her first kiss circled her mind. And to a complete stranger at that. Mr. H for Hiira? Please, it stood for hentai.

She chuckled at her own dumb joke, but her mind prodded her the question: why are you laughing? Your mother is too busy for you. Father doesn't care about his family enough prevent jail time and a divorce. Your best friend-the one you hopelessly thought was your future first kiss, husband, father of your children-has a girlfriend.

Tomoyo watched the rain roll down the window just as a tear rolled down her cheek. The rain pounding outside emulated her pounding head and heart. The fairy dust worked its magic as she closed her eyes.

_There's no way I_  
_Could describe him_  
_What I've said is_  
_Just what I'm hoping for_

* * *

A/N (12/07/14):

Wow, it's been a while. I would like to thank kawaiiangel212 for encouraging me to write again. And if any of you guys were wondering, I modeled Eriol from Ryan Gosling's character in Crazy, Stupid, Love. hehehe

Compared to my other chapter fic, I'm gonna be doing things a little differently now (Check out my profile for more information). Anyway, hoped you enjoyed this chapter!

If you have finals or anything this week/month, good luck and work hard!

(I have finals, too. And I have POP-piles of poop-I still haven't done. Whoops)


	2. Sketch 2: Open Sesame

Word Count: 6,600~

**9Heads**  
Sketch 2: Open Sesame

_Hey, hey you, yeah, you gotta be leaving, _

_Say what you want, what you say, say anything _

_No one knows just how deep it goes _

_We are old in your teenaged tyranny _

_And all you need is a hunger to feed _

_I've got my own secrets though, say what? _

_With a heart full of mess and lore _

_We are doomed, but we wanted more _

\- Blow Away, A Fine Frenzy

* * *

Sakura woke up to Meiling snoring and the smell of pancakes. She stretched, yawned, and sat up from the recliner.

_THUD!_

Somebody familiar mumbled, "Dammit, Sakura."

Sakura smiled. She trudged past Meiling sleeping on the couch, dodged her unpacked suitcases in the foyer, and strolled into the kitchen, "Morning, Touya!"

"Sakura!" He growled in his pink apron. He waved his spatula like a knife, "Unpack your stuff! At least, get it out of the foyer!"

"Shhh! Meiling's sleeping." She took an index finger to her lips in vain. Meiling shuffled to the kitchen and leaned on the doorframe, hazy-eyed, "What's up, Touya? Long time no see." Her eyes drifted to the scent. Her nose found a plate full of pancakes. The pair of friends drooled and raced to their seats.

He rolled his eyes and sighed, "Help yourself." He stripped off his apron, "I'm almost done. One last box and you and dad will have my room for whatever purpose." He ruffled Sakura's hair but she was too tired and hungry to care.

Meiling had her fork in her mouth and eyed Touya, "You look tired."

"Yeah, I've been up all night," he smiled and rubbed his eyes.

"Ewwwwww!" They groaned. Sakura plastered her best valley-girl voice, "Uh, hello? Gag me with a spoon, but like, there's no room for that at the breakfast nook."

He glared and muttered something like 'disgusting kids'. He left the room and came back with a box, "See ya later." He yawned and left.

Meiling eyed Sakura. For Sakura, it had been a while since she had a decent conversation without hearing Hitomi-related gossip. She'd double her inheritance if she earned a nickel for every time she heard 'Hitomi-this' or 'Hitomi-that'.

Mouth full of pancake mush, Sakura glared, "What?"

Meiling smiled, "Nothing, what time is it?"

"Damn, 12 or one, I think."

Meiling choked. Sakura nearly panicked, but handed her a glass of water. She started laughing when Meiling recovered, "One?! One?! In the afternoon?!" Meiling jumped from her seat and nearly knocked her chair over. She caught it before it hit the ground. She dashed to the foyer and tripped on a suitcase. At this point, Sakura clutched her stomach and cackled. Meiling fumbled to stuff her feet into her ruined suede boots, while Sakura held the door for her. Meiling bolted out the door with her long trenchcoat flowing behind her, "Thanks, Sakura! See ya around!"

Sakura waved until Meiling rounded the corner. There's a saying that best friends are considered best friends when they have drifted apart, but suddenly meet up and chat from where they left off.

…

Tomoyo groaned as she felt a poke at her shoulder.

"Hey."

She groaned. Who in the world does that deep voice belong to? It's neither her mother nor her bodyguard.

"Hey."

It's so deep. Why is that voice so deep? All baritone-like? Her eyes squinted. A blurry figure was over her. Her hands reached her face to rub the sleep out of them.

"Tomoyo. I'm sorry, I can't take you home," she felt the figure kneel beside her, "I'll look up some cab services for you, alright?"

The sleepiness in her eyes was mostly gone. She ran a hand through her hair. Her voice crackled, "Alright." She watched him leave her side as she propped her head on her hand.

She remembered. Her best friend rejected her, she went to a bar, then a stranger's house, got a little intimate for the first time in her life, and fell asleep. Well, all of her activities last night could be considered her first time, like kissing a boy on a cheek and him returning the kiss. She watched Hiira, in jeans and a white t-shirt, sip something from a mug as he scrolled through his smartphone. She sat up while he pressed his phone to his ear, "Yeah, I'll need a cab. How much is the cab fare?...Alright…The penthouses on the east…Okay, good…Thank you."

He hung up, and watched her stretch and yawn. "What time is it?" She asked, her morning voice a little clearer than before. She gripped the blanket and adjusted her skirt over it.

"1:45." He sipped. He crossed his arms, then watched her fold his blanket and place his pillow over it. She stood to her feet and adjusted her dress to her knees. Suddenly, she froze.

"Wait," she heaved, "1:45?!"

He nodded, "Do you wear make-up? You have a nice face to wake up to."

"Oh my," she brushed her hair from her face, eyes-wide, "My mother. Her flight."

"Do you need to pick somebody up from the airport?"

"No, no, no," she picked up her cell phone from the coffee table. Thank goodness, nobody left any messages. Sort of bittersweet, but the pros of the situation overcame the cons. "Her flight back to Japan is at two. So," she grabbed her trenchcoat and laid it over her arm. She tapped her chin, and talked to herself, "she'll be home around 2:30, 2:45 at the most. Okay, I think I'm good." She reached for her heels.

Suddenly, she felt a hand on her back, Hiira smiled politely, "I'll escort you to the lobby."

"It's fine."

He ignored her and headed out the door with her. He trailed behind her to the elevator. A silence hovered over them. It was a comfortable silence as they wandered into their own individual thoughts. She didn't notice how tall he was last night. His presence intimidated and comforted her at the same time. He was a boy, just like her best friend, but he was tall, just like her cousin. But he was quite handsome, just like her best friend, but then again, he was comfortable to be around, just like her cousin.

He pressed the bottom floor button and they leaned on opposite sides of the elevator. He watched her, yet she looked everywhere except him. He spoke first, "You didn't answer me."

"Pardon?" She stared at him, face-to-face, this time.

"Do you wear make-up?"

She briefly remembered him asking her the question and complimenting her. But it sounded a little vulgar for her tastes. She was probably over-thinking it. She did sleep over at his apartment but not with him.

"Powder foundation."

"That's it?"

"Just-"

Another man entered the elevator; he briefly smiled at the two before pressing a button and facing the door. Hiira scooted closer to Tomoyo, "Just foundation?" The man briefly glanced at them before facing the front again. The elevator dinged and all three of them stepped out into the lobby. Tomoyo sighed, "Yes, to minimize my pores." Her mother-quite the make-up artist herself-said make-up wasn't necessary and the most she'll let her daughter use is foundation.

"Hmm," Hiira placed a hand on the small of her back and led her to the doors. He opened the door and escorted her to a parked taxi. He paid the driver and nodded to Tomoyo, "Have a nice day, Tomoyo. Maybe I'll see you around."

"Maybe," she waved as the taxi drove off.

...

It was probably freshman year that they drifted apart. They were both fairly popular but Meiling's style had an upturned nose with the latest designer clothes and the craziest ragers. Meanwhile, Sakura simply joined the student council and introduced herself to people she hadn't come across before. Now, by Sakura's own measure, including word of mouth, in the Tomoeda's small suburbs, everybody from one to 80 knows or has at least, heard of Sakura Kinomoto.

She turned around, hands on her hips, and surveyed her three suitcases in the foyer-all of which were knocked down throughout the night. She sighed and grabbed her suitcases. She grunted and trudged up the foyer. Zipping open all three suitcases, she dumped her dirty clothes in the hamper. She trudged to the bathroom for a quick shower and shook any excess water from her hair, similar to Kero. She slipped into her cargo shorts and v-neck before heading into the sizzling heat with her rental video in hand. Any traces of the previous storm dried up with the summer heat.

It was a day like this that reminded Sakura of when she and Meiling had once reduced to acquaintances. Two summers ago, Meiling was with her new friends-some girls that Sakura faintly knew from elementary school, but they blossomed once high school started. Cheerleader Chiharu, nose-in-a-book Naoko, and nothing-less-than-regal Rika were always nice enough to say hi and engage in small talk. They knew each other since elementary school. But Meiling was too busy to talk to Sakura because of a new girl, Hitomi. Sakura couldn't give her an epithet until now-when Meiling and Hitomi finally cut ties. Brown-haired Hitomi? Too boring for her. Hot Hitomi? No, she knew Hitomi was a flirt, but her female assets were average. From what Sakura remembered, Hitomi seemed to scoff every time Sakura caught her eye. In spite of that, Sakura managed to smile politely. All of Sakura's attempts went to vain. Hitomi still scoffed and glared at her friendly gestures. Maybe Hotheaded Hitomi would fit her. And there the girls were on the docks, two years ago. Sakura returned to Tomoeda's mainland from her usual summer vacation at Seijuu island.

The cement sizzled as the sun glared. The sea breeze made hanging at the pier tolerable. Little children ran around with their parents stalking behind. Sakura rolled her luggage behind her as she spotted Meiling's crew. They chatted and leaned on the pier's barrier. Chiharu was the first to catch her eye, then Naoko and Rika. The three girls waved, "Hey, Sakura!" She gleamed and waved back. At the end of the row, Meiling chatted with Hitomi. It was Hitomi that first caught Sakura walking off the dock and it was her that glanced and scoffed. Meiling's straight, long, black hair rippled as she followed Hitomi's glance. She failed to look at Sakura face-to-face. It was only at the minimal turn of her head—where she could see Sakura from the corner of her eye—that she leaned her elbow on the pier's barrier, took a slender hand to her neck, flipped her hair, and chatted away with Hitomi.

A lump formed in Sakura's throat, but she kept walking off the dock to reach the pier. When she passed by Meiling's crew, she could almost sense Hitomi beaming laser glares at her back. Sakura shivered despite the summer day. Sakura knew that her old friend knew very well that she visited Seijuu Island every summer and she came back at the same day, same time of every year. Sure, maybe Meiling was busy talking to Hitomi, but to completely ignore her former best friend for that little pipsqueak-of course, she'd be jealous. The pipsqueak was cruel in her own ways. She ignored the rules of basic courtesy. She never opened the door whenever Sakura was right on her tail or never apologized when she "accidentally" bumped into her. She even took the last slice of lemon meringue pie from Sakura once. The pipsqueak threw it away after scowling and taking a measly bite.

Sakura shook the awful memories from her head as she pulled the door and entered the video rental shop. That was then but this was now. Forgive and forget. But still, she wondered if Meiling could possibly regress to her previous standoff.

"Oof!" She bumped into a small figure.

"Ah," Sakura swiftly caught her breath along with somebody's stray video tape. She grinned and handed it to the owner, "Oh, hey, Tomo."

The said 'Tomo' gasped and smiled, "Sakura! Hi! Um, returning something?"

Sakura held up her tape, "Hausu," she poised her finger at the tape, "This is some downright scary shit right here."

"Is it?" she bit her lip at the tape, "Looks spooky."

Sakura nodded and looked her up-and-down, "Hmm, fancypants today, huh? Where're you going?"

"Oh," she brushed her hair behind her ear and smoothed her white modest, quilted pencil skirt. Sakura eyed her yellow peep-toe flats that bought color to the otherwise neutral outfit. Tomoyo tugged at the hem of her silk, gray blouse, "Um, mother and I are attending the country club, today."

"Ah," Sakura stepped out of the doorway, "On your way out? Tell auntie I said hi."

"I will," she bowed and waved before pushing the door and entering the limo; her chauffeur closing the door behind her.

Sakura smiled. Her cousin, Tomoyo, was always refreshingly polite, modest, and chaste but dreadfully shy. Usually, Tomoyo dressed so bleak that people thought she was a little strange to dress as dreadfully simple as an heiress to Daidouji Designer. Nobody bothered getting to know Tomoyo because her out-of-date, bell-bottom jeans and neutral cardigans and sweaters screamed bleak and boring. But her sketchbook told another story. In it, vivid designs of thick and wide, shoulder-padded blazers, floor-length skirts as long as Princess Diana's record-breaking wedding dress, 10-inch platform shoes and unaligned hats adorned her sketchbook. When Sakura glanced at her cousin's sketchbook, she never saw Tomoyo the same simple, boring way ever again.

Even so, Tomoyo liked to keep to herself because she has had so much on her plate. A meeting with executives in the metropolis during weekends, after school internships at her mother's office, and once a month she visited real live fashion shows at New York, L.A., Singapore, Tokyo, Milan, Venice, etc. And don't forget early visits and interviews for prospective universities across Japan and overseas. Sakura understood that Tomoyo was so busy that she had to sacrifice something for the greater good and that meant committing anti-social imprisonment. Although they were cousins, Tomoyo was still fairly shy around Sakura. They hardly spent time together.

Sakura sighed and dropped her rental in the drop box.

…

"Sakura says hi."

"Oh, really? How is she?"

"Fine."

Tomoyo leaned on the car window's arm rest. Sakura would make a wonderful model. Tall and skinny but not too skinny. She had a nice touch of muscular tone. But Tomoyo was too shy to ask her own cousin. She figured Sakura was too tomboy-ish to be interested. She sighed, maybe some other time.

"Tomoyo, dear," Sonomi patted her daughter's knee and pointed at a notebook, "A couple of months from now, we'll be going to New Caledonia for vacation! Just in time for next year's fashion week! Isn't it exciting?"

"Oh, mother, that's months and months away," she counted with her fingers and did a onceover, "Nearly thirteen months, to be exact."

"Oh, I know," her mother flipped through her agenda, "It's just unfortunate that we can't attend this year's fashion week."

Tomoyo didn't bother agreeing with her. October was supposed to be a happy month. October arms all the shoppers ready for the holiday season with jittering glee, but it seemed like all that was a different world for the Daidouji's. Her parents' divorce papers were supposed to be officially signed and accepted as a separation of irreconcilable differences by October. Instead of regularly attending the international franchise, her mother decided to stay home and make sure everything went through orderly. Yes, it was unfortunate, including Seijuu High's homecoming, which was around October. Her best friend would most likely be going with his mysterious girlfriend, whoever that is.

"Tomoyo," her mother spoke while Tomoyo turned her head to face her, but the former looked out the car window, "do you remember the Gails?"

The Gails?

"Back at Seijuu when we lived in your grandfather's old house by the beach, we had neighbors next door and they had a little girl."

"Ah," The Gails. She remembered. How could she forget? The foreigner father from England with blonde hair that married a Japanese woman. And the blond girl that always wore the frilly dresses Tomoyo envied. That little girl was such an inspiration for her earlier works that her mother actually sent to the sketches to her executives. Her sketches came alive and cultivated: sold worldwide. Tomoyo smiled. It was a big hit. So much so that Tomoyo couldn't forget that little girl, except for one thing and it was on the tip of her tongue, "The blonde little girl. What was her name?"

"Hmm, I've forgotten," her mother shook her head, "But the family changed their name to the mother's maiden name. It's of Japanese origins now."

Tomoyo tapped her chin. Back then, Tomoyo wasn't as busy as she was now, but she still had a huge burden as her mother always showed her reports of the stock market and new designs from Milan and Venice and what not. Her childhood didn't deviate from that routine. From her busy eight year-old schedule, she forgot a lot of things, including people's names. The little girl back at Seijuu Island always insisted a mnemonic device for her name, "The Little Mermaid! The Little Mermaid!" She remembered that whiny squeal. But at eight years-old and oblivious to the modern movies, she was only familiar with the Japanese version that her father showed her. It was from the seventies, he had said.

Marina? Was that her name? Marina the Mermaid was just as blonde with blue eyes as the little girl she met when she was eight.

Tomoyo could never remember the name because all that flooded into her mind was the ambulance and the sirens and the screams. Then, an empty, deserted beach house.

Tomoyo felt a pat on her knee, "We're here."

The separate car doors swung open to reveal the Daidouji mother-daughter pair. Their trendy shoes click-clacked on the pavement. Tomoyo took a hand to her forehead to shade from the glaring sun. There was no trace of last night's tempest. The doormen bowed in acknowledgement, "Daidouji Sonomi, Daidouji Tomoyo," and opened the impressive mahogany doors to reveal European-accented, grand arches, sparkling chandeliers, fresh, vivid bouquets, and twinkling-clean, tall windows.

Sonomi wiggled her wrist and glanced at her watch, "Hmm."

Tomoyo rubbed the back of her neck, "Er, mother." She didn't know exactly why her mother wanted them to visit the country club except that she randomly declared that they must head to the country club by three o' clock Saturday as she shuffled manila folders in her office earlier that week.

"Oh, almost forgot," Sonomi fished through her bloated Dooney &amp; Burke bag and handed Tomoyo a puffy, fan-like folder, "While we're waiting look over these reports from the Japan branch for the meeting next week."

She nodded and pulled out the first bundle of stapled papers she was responsible for. She read quietly to herself, 'Aqua, winter knit-scarves on sale: December 13th. Last month's twist silver necklace continued in demand while China silk shirts decreased, leaving leftover fabric in the distribution center.' A smile grew from ear-to-ear, China silk would be perfect for the new blouses and skirts she designed. Absentmindedly, she followed her mother to the outside dining area.

She heard her mother call out, "Oh, Kimiko! There you are! So nice to see you!"

From the corner of her eye, her mother hugged another woman, but Tomoyo concentrated on her reports, 'Extra cable tights on sale in the metropolis'. She bit her lip and pondered on grabbing one herself. To her, there were never enough tights.

Womenly chats and giggles was all Tomoyo heard as her mother patted her arm. She looked up from her reports and Tomoyo sensed her mother's slight annoyance for an impolite daughter. Her mother strained a smile, "You're so enthralled in the business, you can't put it down for a while? You remember the Gails, don't you, Tomoyo? They're Hiiragizawa's now."

"Oh," Tomoyo glanced ahead, ignoring the irony. Tomoyo noted Hiiragizawa bore a strange resemblance to something she could barely remember. She attempted to hurriedly stuff the papers back in the folder. A woman in her mid-forties endearingly smiled as Tomoyo reddened and bowed, "Pardon, I'm Tomoyo."

The woman's smile reached her crow feet eyes as she bowed, "I'm Kimiko," she proudly slid a slender arm around a tall, semi-formally dressed man beside her. He touched his hand to his tie, his dark bangs covering his eyes. He looked down as he pushed his glasses to the bridge of his nose and smiled before the corners of his lips faltered. The two teenagers blinked. Kimiko gleamed, the small wrinkles around her mouth stretched into nothingness, "And this is my son, Eriol."

Mouth agape, Tomoyo felt her fingers go numb. Her fingers shook and it wasn't until her papers and folder crashed to the ground that she finally registered an, "Eep!"

Eriol as in Ariel? So, this was the mnemonic device she was supposed to remember.

She dived for the ground and gathered her papers, "I'm sorry."

The older women bended their knees, but Eriol stopped them with a wave of his arm and bent down. Boy and girl were both crouched when he handed her the papers. Her chest ached as she caught a waft of a scent she experienced last night. He slid his hand to her forearm and brought her to her feet. Papers flayed out in one hand, her folder in the other, and her arm held by a boy, she leered to his blue eyes and meekly muttered, "Thank you…Hiira."

"It's Hiiragizawa, now, but you can call me Eriol, Tomoyo."

The mothers, oblivious to their children's interaction, chatted aimlessly while Eriol meekly smiled at a flustered Tomoyo. What else was she supposed to say to a guy she supposedly met just now, except for the small fact that she met him last night? At a smoky bar lounge…to his apartment…his elevator…his white, leather couch.

Kimiko sauntered to the teens and slid an arm around Tomoyo. Tomoyo grew flustered times two as she glance bewilderedly at her own mother, who grinned as mischievously as a Cheshire cat.

"Oh, Eriol, honey!" The said 'Kimiko' tied a silky scarf around her neck, "Sonomi just gave this to me! What do you think?"

"It's very pretty, mum."

Kimiko smiled and endearingly gave Tomoyo a gentle squeeze, "Isn't she?"

…

"Sorry, I had to go meet my cousin at home. Apparently, he and my aunt are staying at my place until the renovations at their place are finished." Sakura heard Meiling huff into the phone, "So lame. He's so quiet and grumpy. I can't believe I have to share my house with him."

"Mei," Sakura laughed, "House? It's a mansion. There's enough space for you to not breathe the same air as him."

"Whatevs. It's funny how his place is having renovations when the boy needs some renovations himself, ugh."

"For real? You know, if you have to tolerate his presence in your house, the least you could do is work up some magic so his appearance itself is tolerable."

Pause. Sakura heard nothing on the other line, except a small whisper, "That's right." It grew to a shout, "That's abso-positively-freaking right!"

"Did you just make a hybrid out of absolutely, positively, and freaking?"

"No, it's a tri-brid."

"Hybrid, Mei."

"What-evs! Look, we'll talk later. I'm taking him to the mall!"

"Your cousin?"

"Yes! But, agh! I have to find him, first," she muttered to herself, "Where the hell did he go?" And hung up.

Sakura sighed. She returned to her previous engagements: facebook, mostly. She scrolled through her facebook. Nobody on. She Alt+Tabbed to her word document and scrolled through her resume. Library, 5k runs, stu-co, honor society, senior citizens, class president three years in a row etc. Her resume was loaded and she listed more than enough volunteer jobs to speed-track and skip any college interview. She clicked on an empty space beyond her previous jobs and let the cursor blink. Glancing at the clock, she sighed and scooted her computer chair back.

She almost forgot. Kero ran away that afternoon. She decided to give Kero a walk after returning her rental. But her stupid dog, Kero, just went dashing out of the house when she finally let loose of the leash he always kept gnawing. She couldn't find him that afternoon and didn't bother. That dumbass dog pissed her off one too many times. He ate the cakes she baked for people (not for dogs, she always told him). He even escaped and returned out of nowhere, just to have Sakura's neighbor ringing the doorbell, glaring and pointing at the shit Kero made on his lawn. Sakura remembered all that her stupid dog had done. She had no remorse for the lost pup. Her fists clenched and her jaw hardened. It was all because of that stupid dog that she almost forgot. It was about that time to head to the library again. Another volunteer task, but only one hour this time.

It was her first volunteer job at fourteen and at seventeen, it kept her coming back for more. Touya kept bugging her to start volunteering because colleges and jobs were looking for that kind of stuff. So, she thought she'll try the library. Sakura considered the library a chill, first-time job experience and she had the opportunity to read all the books she wanted. Boy, was she wrong. Old Lady Futari had her stacking and shelving all throughout her four-hour shifts. The task made her sleepy but the only thing that kept her going was peeking at all the great reads and checking them out before her shift ended. Besides a great resource for books, the library volunteer job was the easiest out of all of them.

Sakura headed out and to the library, still fuming over her dog. At the library, Sakura walked in, checked in, and went straight to stacking. She didn't bother saying hello to the working staff or Old Lady Futari (not like the old hag cares, anyway). The only thing that kept her from kicking the storage trolley was a text from Meiling. 'I still haven't found Syaoran! That damn bastard!' Syaoran? So, that's her cousin's name. Sakura giggled, stuffed her phone in her cargos, went a-stacking, and even said 'wassup' to Old Lady Futari (she grunted in response). Don't get her wrong. Sakura was still pissed.

Her phone vibrated an hour later. From Touya: 'Kero's still not home'. The stupid dog had her down again. It was 4:30 in the afternoon and he ran away at ten in the morning. The little, lost pup was never gone for more than four hours.

She sighed. Her fingers were getting dry and crusty flipping through pages of books that piqued her interest. Sakura headed to the counter where Old Lady Futari had a bottle of lotion for employee use. While behind the counter, rubbing her knuckles with peach blossom scented lotion, a guy spoke.

"Excuse me?" His voice was low and quiet. Sakura turned around and his lips barely curved, but she could tell he was satisfied-and a little relieved-that he earned her attention.

"What's up?" Sakura asked. Normally, she would've been all formal about it: 'Can I help you, sir?' But that dumbass dog, even in his absence, affected the people she had to surround herself with.

"Um," he ran a hand through his messy, dark brown hair. Sakura looked up at him which was a nice surprise; most guys were exactly her height or lower. Through his thick glasses, his amber eyes looked up, as if reaching into his brain for advice on social skills, "Can I sign up for a library card?" He paused and made a face as if he made a mistake or left something out, "Please?"

"Yeah, hold up," she tiptoed past scanners, printers, and computers within the inner most part of the back of the library. The registration sheet must be somewhere. She tiptoed back to the front and shuffled the papers on the desks, trying to organize everything to find one, measly sheet of paper.

"Um," he muttered, eyeing something behind the desk. He pointed at a stack of green papers, "Is that it?"

'Library Card Registration', it screamed in big, black, bold letters. "Damn," she muttered (and again, she would have been politer had it not been for that dumb dog) and grabbed a sheet, "My bad, here you go." She handed him the sheet and a pen while he mumbled a thank you. Good thing Sakura had bionic ears or her mood would not have been lifted earlier. This poor guy was trying so hard to be polite when he has poor social skills while Sakura was having a bad day.

When he finished filling out the form, Sakura handed him a card, "Just sign your name on the white space and you're good to go." He nodded and with his head hung low over signing the card, he smiled.

He has dimples.

He mumbled another thank you before grabbing a stack of books and checking out. She took his form to key in his info. Her fingers poised over the keyboard, ready to type. Sakura paused. She squinted at the form. 'Syaoran Li', he scribbled in doctor-like chicken scratch. Sakura bit the inside of her cheek. Was this the same Syaoran Li that Meiling was talking about?

Sakura shook her head and keyed in his information. She sighed and flopped in the library's computer chair. What a coincidence, she thought to herself.

…

Their mothers left them to their own devices.

Tomoyo slowly approached the awkwardly smiling Hiiragizawa, and circled him like he was a strange artifact in a museum. He sighed, and let her stare till her satisfaction. She stopped circling him. In that instance, her manners withered away. She began to stare dead-straight in his eyes. They were the same blue eyes. Except for the fact that they belonged to a black-haired guy and not a curly-blonde, little girl.

"Look," he began, "I can explain."

She shook her head, "That's unnecessary."

"It is?" He was bewildered. He knew she was a mild-mannered person, but anybody in their situation would demand an explanation.

"Yes," she pitied him, "In your circumstances, it's difficult to explain, right?"

He was touched. How did she ever detect the complications of his past? Was it last night at the bar? They definitely connected, but he never expected she was telepathic.

She wrung her hands, worried for him. She continued, "It's hard for people to come out."

"Pardon me? Come out?"

"It's unnecessary to indulge in the details of your surgery. Just know that I'm there for you."

"…Surgery?" Okay, that was very sweet of her, but perhaps her telepathic powers distilled her comprehension.

She nodded and whispered, "The reassignment surgery…"

Hiiragizawa chuckled and sighed at her wild, but understandable conclusion. Shaking his head, he took off his glasses to rub the space between his eyes.

"Tomoyo," he adjusted his glasses to his face, "There was no surgery."

She scoffed and narrowed her eyes, "Then how-"

"It's a long story."

…

The vast country club sat over a high hill overlooking the ocean. It included a five-star spa, golf course, ten tennis courts, two outdoor pools, and one indoor pool. Everything radiated an expensive membership. Tomoyo never enjoyed the country club's luxuries. Back then, she was too busy hanging out at the beach with Sakura, but now, all she did was either study at her mother's workplace in the city or study at the country club's members-only restaurant.

Hiirgizawa and Tomoyo made their way silently to the sea-side balcony, accessible from the indoor pool. She was still bewildered the whole time walking there. He amused himself by catching her facial expressions, displaying numerous attempts at comprehension of their situation.

He thrust-open the double door windows of the cast-iron balcony. She took a moment from her swirl of thoughts to breathe in the fresh, salty air that cleared her sinuses.

Hiiragizawa broke the silence, "How's that?"

"Fine." She smiled gingerly, momentarily forgetting the task of asking Hiiragizawa everything about him, "What ever happened to those pretty blonde tresses?"

"Due to the dominant gene, my black hair started coming in when I was ten."

"Ah, is that so?" Tomoyo tucked her hair behind her ear, "Care to tell me how you grew out of those pretty, frilly dresses?"

"Like I said, it's a long story."

She sat on a chaise lounge chair, "I have time."

He shook his head, "Daidouji?"

"Yes. Hiiragizawa, is it? I presume it's long for Hiira, even longer for H."

He shuffled, with his hands fisted in his pockets.

His ears red, H, Hiira, Hiiragizawa—whatever—cleared his throat, "If it's not too much trouble, I would prefer if the young lady would address me by Eriol."

She scoffed, "Why, of course it's too much trouble!" After all his cryptic language the previous night, she put it all together. But why did he come onto her? Merely hyped over hormones and drowning in personal turmoil, she almost reciprocated and nearly jumped his bones that night. If nearly jumping somebody's bones means giving a kiss on the cheek, that is.

"You know," she crossed her legs and adjusted her skirt over her knees, "I prefer to address you as Mr. H, for Mr. Hentai, after what happened last night."

"Sorry," he took off his glasses and squinted. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, "When I possess an affinity for someone, I go for it. Besides, Tomoyo, you fail to understand. It wasn't all animal attraction last night. I knew you looked familiar. I just, merely, sorta, withheld-"

"Some very vital, incredibly important information," she blushed—over the fact that Eriol neglected informing her of their shared past and the fact that she almost gave her first kiss away. To a guy. That used to be a girl? Now, that's not bad at all, but would she have to reevaluate her sexuality now?

Despite her usual meekness, she found it in her to ask, "Or should I call you Ariel? Or is that even your real name? Is that not your mother? Am I wrong? Is she King Triton?"

"No, no, no," he chuckled, a hollow laugh. His empty smile didn't reach his eyes, "That consideration you previously held for me?" he sighed, trying to find the correct words. "If you would please practice that, I would very much appreciate it."

She slightly gasped, realizing she almost trespassed on private territory, "Sorry, sorry, how rude of me."

He nodded and sat on the opposite lounge chair. They sat quietly as they watched golf carts ride around in the distance. That part was still puzzling to her, but she kept it to herself. Rather than that, other questions bounced around in her head.

Most of her anger deriving from bewilderment diminished. She finally turned to him, "When did you know it was me?"

"First time I laid eyes on you," he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She frowned, while he smirked, "You failed to identify your old friend until our fateful encounter?"

"How uncalled for. Besides, I never saw you without ruffled dresses and shiny, blonde locks." She could see it now. His blues eyes were the only thing that never changed.

He genuinely laughed this time. She liked the crinkle around his eyes as he shook his head, "Did you prefer that retired attire? I remember a miniature Tomoyo, lecturing me whenever a speck of sand landed on my lace skirts."

She giggled, "You're enchanting either way."

She really loved his frilly dresses. She thought of another question, "And why have you both moved here, again?"

She never received the whole story, but she held a faint idea of why they moved away in the first place. The flames, first of all. Way back when she lived an idyllic life at Seijuu island—the white, picket fence; the yellow house; the beach as her backyard—she lived next door to Ariel. The Daidouji's used to live on Seijuu Island-only for a year, due to her mother needing some inspirations for new clothing designs. Sakura was still on the mainland, and Tomoyo was stuck on the island, leaving her as the only little kid on the block with old, retirement, Victorian beach houses, until the Gail's moved in next door. For what seemed like days on end, the small Tomoyo would hopelessly gather sand into piles and piles. It wasn't until Ariel—in her frilly, pink dress—trudged her way to Tomoyo's piles that she was finally able to create her long-awaited sand castles.

"I'm under a training procedure." He shrugged.

She raised a brow, "Procedure?"

"I'm fulfilling my grandfather's wishes to inherit his medical equipment company." Stretching his legs, and adjusting his pant legs, he continued, "My mother would take the role, but—," He frowned, once again, trying to find the correct words.

"No…passion?" she attempted to guess. From what Tomoyo could remember, Kimiko Hiiragizawa didn't appear to be a hands-on heiress. In fact, even as a child, Tomoyo watched Kimiko wring her hands at the littlest things Ariel did. 'I'll fix that curl for you,' 'Sit up straight,' 'Where are your ribbons?,' 'Hold your fork and knife, like this.' Micro-managing her mild-mannered child occupied a full-time job. How could she ever manage an entire business empire?

"Yes," he faintly chuckled, "We'll go with that."

As much as she wanted to, she hated prying open his past. She watched him eye his folded hands in front of him. After a passing silence, she watched Eriol stretch and squint at the sea. There were so many questions she wanted to ask. Did he run away? Was it because of the possibly imposed cross-dressing? Where and when did he hold his father's funeral? From blue and white to charcoal and ashes, both of their Victorian houses laid to waste. It wasn't until neighbors' complaints piled to its limit that their house was restored. Tomoyo couldn't bear to visit that neighborhood, not after last semester. Sonomi Daidouji pleaded with her cousin-in-law, Fujitaka Kinomoto, to visit the neighborhood, stay there for the summer, give it to Touya for his honeymoon. The seasoned designer would rather gather the most out of her investments than let little accidents deter her. After Sakura came back from vacation, she informed her. Another rich family lives there, now. Sakura shrugged, "One of those families with another mcmansion on the mainland."

Tomoyo shook those thoughts from her head. She never thought a fire in the past would spark a fire from last night.

"Last night," she eyed and traced the seams on her skirt. She could feel him awaken from his brief reverie. "What business does a child have in a bar?" She raised a brow.

He laughed and stretched his legs. She was so conscious of him that she felt as if his stretched limbs invaded her personal space. During times like these, Tomoyo shrunk into her default mode: elbows to her waist, feet adjacent to her knees, tense shoulders. He must have noticed because he collected his legs to himself again.

"A tempest, such as last night?" He smiled, "Would you rather have this child catch pneumonia?"

She squinted and frowned, "The child seemed familiar with Chikako."

He threw his head back and laughed, "Chikako wouldn't profit from cold-hearted hospitality." The young heiress still poised a brow. He continued, "I swear, only recently had I moved in!"

"Is that so? Where were you last located? Were you also-" She wavered for a moment, "Like that? Like…last night?"

Despite her delicacy, he understood and replied, "In England, I released most of my wild oats. Quite befitting since my time will be cut to the point of exhaustion. I don't think I can sow anymore."

She laughed, "Sewing? I do that plenty."

…

Later that week, Sakura's cell phone rang from the local animal shelter. Somebody found Kero. She rushed over on her roller blades and burst through the door. Ms. Akiyama, a colleague that Sakura often worked with at the shelter, handed him over. She beamed, seeing Sakura hug her dog. "You little rascal," Sakura squealed with a baby voice, "Yes, you are! Yes, you are!" Ms. Akiyama laughed. Sakura hugged her dog, then she hugged Ms. Akiyama

"Who turned him in!?" Kero licked Sakura's face and she laughed, "I gotta thank them, Ms. Aki! I have to!"

Ms. Aki grinned, "I knew you'd ask. When I saw Kero in his arms, I asked him for his name. And it was quite an unusual name. Sounded foreign. Chinese, I'm guessing-"

"Spill, please."

"Show-ran? Siopao? No, that's a steamed bun," She giggled, "I ate some for lunch."

"You mean, Syaoran? Syaoran Li?"

"Yes! That's it!" She tipped her head to the side, "Although, I didn't know he was a Li."

Sakura pet Kero, deep in thought, "I think that's Mei's cousin."

"Really?" she nodded in approval, "Those Li genes must be strong in good looks. Mei's beautiful. That Syaoran's hot as a siaopao."

"Whaddya mean?"

"He's hot. I'd like to steam his bun, know what I mean?"

Sakura laughed and cringed. She left the shelter happy and a little confused, wondering if Meiling really went through with working her magic on Syaoran.

* * *

A/N (1/1/15):

This chapter...we have a peek at Syaoran! That's my gift to you guys. ahah Maybe I should clarify. It seems like the fanfic is leaning toward the ExT ship and yeah, it is. Uuum, don't know if SxS will be a main ship or not. But it will definitely be a ship. Still trying to figure out how to sail it. Eep! I know for sure I'll mainly focus on Meiling and Sakura's friendship, along with Tomoyo's friendships.

Thank you:

XxsTrInGz N' kEyZxX  
SakuSyaoLvr

You guys are really awesome. :D And thank you to anybody else that reads this, too!

Happy Holidays and Happy New Year, everybody!


	3. Sketch 3: Family Quilt

Word Count: 3,700~

**9Heads**  
Sketch 3: Family Quilt

_But if you let her see that Fancy Footwork,_

_Show her that you're not that shy._

_Let her see that Fancy Footwork._

_Show her you're that type of guy._

\- Fancy Footwork, Chromeo

* * *

Tomoyo tapped her pencil on her sketchbook. She glanced through D&amp;D's window. The sun still sizzled, but the nights grew colder. Fall would make its appearance soon. She fidgeted in her computer chair. Lately, it seemed like that's all she ever did during her off-time. Ever since Meiling suddenly and strangely propositioned her, Tomoyo fished her brain for ideas. She practiced drawing male croquis; circling and erasing anything that didn't fit her clientele's vision. The young designer couldn't help quietly chuckling to herself.

The summer storm seemed to encompass Tomoyo's world in a strange reverie. Just two weeks ago, a first act of her own accord, she confessed her love to her best friend, Naoto. Abruptly, Eriol showed up before she could comprehend the rejection. Besides—the old friend's appearance surfaced difficult memories for her; ones that flooded beyond Naoto's drizzled dismissal.

"And you, Miss Daidouji?" Back at the country club, Eriol asked her, "Do you still inhabit at those majestic, Victorian houses on Seijuu?"

She cupped her reddened cheeks. Eriol only recently moved into the small town. There's no possible way he would know of Mr. Daidouji's DUI last year. Wait, Eriol HIiragizawa would have connections to the business realm. Who would stop another businessman from prying into her mother's private life? No, no. Besides, it's impossible. With plenty of stacks, the older businesswoman buried those reports. The story only lived through the grapevine. Eriol just moved in. He wouldn't know a thing. "No, no." She waved a hand to swat away her invasive thoughts, "Seijuu houses are merely summer houses. But they were quite beautiful, were they not?"

"Incredibly beautiful," he sighed. He shaded his eyes from the waning sunset, "It's a shame it was consumed the way it did." He shook his head, "Literally, I didn't see it coming. Wasn't even present.."

She tensed at the topic, but relieved that he was the first to bring it up. "Where were you? At first, everyone thought you went with the flames, but later on, the police said you were found away from home."

"No, I didn't run away from home. No matter how much I contemplated over that possibility, I wouldn't run away," he faintly smiled at her. She took his weariness as another sign to avoid prying into that part of his past. "It was so silly, back then. But it probably saved my life."

"What? What is it?"

"Spinel. Spinel Sun. I was looking for her."

Her laughter sliced the tension, "Is this another case of misgendering?" She clearly remembered the pair of them encountering the cat by the beach. He was the prince of their sand castles.

"I'm afraid so. I didn't know, really. When I brought her to England, nobody bothered to correct me. It wasn't until my butler ran into my room, flustered and sputtering, saying there's a feline litter in the living room."

"Awww."

"That's right, but she passed away within a few years. Suppi, one of her sons, is staying at my cousin's house. The Li's."

In the present, Tomoyo poised her 3B pencil over her sketchbook. Business wasn't slowing down. Yet, with school starting up again, her mother lightened the load. She arranged on-call days for Tomoyo's intern work. Sorting mail, coffee runs, stapling. That left her to deal with her clientele, the Lis.

That weekend, the Daidouji and Hiiragizawa families gathered at the Li household. Kimiko preferred a reunion dinner at her cousin's house—the Li mansion—over her small condo. Despite a faint familiarity with the popular Meiling since kindergarten, the mousy girl managed to awkwardly stick around her mother and Eriol during the reunion. It wasn't until after the dinner that the eccentric girl dragged the mousy one to a room upstairs. Tomoyo stood at the door's arch, wringing her hands as Meiling ravaged a walk-in closet, full of what seemed to be men's clothing.

"Gross," she pinched a horrid sweater, "Blue and orange?! What an atrocity!" She threw it behind her, along with piles of other atrocities: ripped khakis, pit-stained button-downs, holey socks, etc.

"Uh," Tomoyo bit her thumbnail, "I'm assuming this isn't your room." Scattered boxes lay around the bare room.

"And this ugly hoodie," Meiling ignored her as she threw more clothing over her shoulder.

Tomoyo's pits began to precipitate. She had a strange premonition that they shouldn't be there. Walls creaking. Lights flickering. Floors rumbling.

The mousy girl felt it coming—the vibrations of stomps on the laminated floor. Syaoran blasted past her and she screamed at his sudden apparition.

He growled, "Meiling!"

The eccentric girl was strangely calm as she rolled her eyes and threw another shirt into the pile. Eriol—hands in pockets, nonchalant—and Tomoyo—hand over her heart, aghast—stood under the doorway, watching the pair.

Syaoran, another eccentric cousin hunched his back. In despair, he pleaded, "Meiling, stop!" She pinched a poop-brown jacket, eyed her cousin, and shook her head. He continued, "Come on!" But she threw it into the pile.

"Look, Syaoran," she finally looked at her despairing cousin in the eye. Ah, Tomoyo recognized the infamous Li glare. Meiling clicked her tongue, "You can live in my house all you want, but you must abide my rules."

"I don't live here because I want to! It's out of necessity! Our place is under renovation!" He followed her around the pile as she eyed a pair of pants, perhaps reconsidering it, but concluded its final resting place in the grave-pile.

Meiling made her way to the pair at the doorway. She gently took Tomoyo's wrist and led her as Eriol followed behind. Meiling whisked her arm at the pile and whispered, "Look at this." In an authoritative voice, she asked, "Tell me what you see."

"Clothes?" Tomoyo squeaked.

"Gorgeous or atrocious?"

"Not quite-"

"Gorgeous or atrocious!"

"Atrocious! Atrocious!" Tomoyo panicked, then whimpered. Eriol frowned and patted her shoulder.

"At D&amp;D, what do you do with atrocious clothes? Do you throw them away? Or do even create them in the first place? Sonomi Daidouji wouldn't let repulsive outfits walk the runway. And neither would you, am I correct?"

"Yes…" In all actuality, D&amp;D recycles the clothes with bad reviews and gives them to the interns as an assignment. Turn fashion don'ts into fashion do's. But at this point, Tomoyo didn't desire to speak any longer; nevertheless, linger in the room.

Syaoran turned his back on them and sat on his bed, elbows propped at his knees, "Quit it, Mei."

She turned her attention to Syaoran, climbing on his bed to avoid the pile, and patted his shoulder, "Look, I'm doing this for your own good."

He shook his shoulders, repulsed. She retracted her hand and left the bed. He groaned. He took his hands to face, attempting to rub away his situation.

"Mei, it's not that bad," Eriol asserted, attempting to salvage Syaoran's self-esteem, like the cavalier one he is. The cavalier cousin was suddenly reminded of Syaoran's summer growth spurt and soccer activities. "His uniform was recently tailored to his new build."

Meiling scoffed, "Do you even know how many Seijuu guys I broke up with? Or, as I like to call them, weekend-fashion nightmares?"

She sashayed to the pile and kicked pair of corduroy pants, "It's not even about the clothes. It's about faking it until you make it"

"Then," Eriol claimed, "It is about the clothes."

"Think of it as a costume," she ignored Eriol, "You're playing a part."

Syaoran glared, "That's fake."

"It's not," the mousy Tomoyo finally interjected. The triplet cousins whisked their heads around. She wrung her hands, "Yes, you are playing a part, but it's not insincere. Plenty of actors adorn roles for the sake of escapism. But wishing for escape, that's genuine, isn't it?" She sighed, "It's difficult to explain—"

"Yes, that's right!" Meiling supported, "What's wrong with escapism? It's just broadening your imagination! It doesn't mean you can't regress to your own boundaries. Your comfortable little cage."

Syaoran growled, his fangs revealing themselves. The eccentric cousin shrugged and sat on the floor, dragging a random box to her side, "It just means you can return to your little cage with a new perspective." With a dainty hand, she folded an army-green sweater and laid it in the box, "And examine it, for all it's worth, and see how much you really like it."

After Meiling's convincing argument, the wolf cousin (as the mousy girl preferred to think of Syaoran) declared to the eccentric one, "As long as you don't dictate my choices, then I'm willing to do it."

Meiling scoffed, "We tried that earlier. At the mall, remember? And every single thing you chose, I hated them. All of them."

Weary from the fighting, Tomoyo arranged for a minor fashion show and had the wolf cousin walk the runway. They all sat in the loft, while Syaoran chose his most comfortable outfits for his walk. Unfortunately, his most comfortable outfits were outfits not purposed for the runway. Baggy hoodies, chunky jeans, and ripped, rubber shoes. Atrocious, the eccentric one reacted. Mediocre, the cavalier assured. After three atrocious walks, the heiress suggested that Syaoran wear his most confident outfits. The results were limited, but satisfactory. He walked in his newly, tailored Seijuu uniform, Seijuu soccer uniform, and one pinstripe suit. He explained each of his outfits. The school uniform was one he wore frequently. He was used to it. Whenever he wears the soccer uniform, he forgets all his troubles and concentrates on the game. He adorns the suit during formal dinners. He's not sure how he really feels about it, but he's received compliments while wearing it. Tomoyo stalked around him, like she frequently did during backstage fashion shows. Even through Syaoran's unsettled shifting, Tomoyo maintained a professional composure. Examining the suit fabric, she noted his expensive taste. Despite the expensive fabric, the suit still hung around him. Nothing a little tailoring can't fix. To the young designer, the most overt trait was the suit pattern. The pinstripes might hint at a more daring side of his fashion sense. That would afford her more freedom when styling him.

She bent to her knees and eyed the laid out uniforms. The young designer frowned, "Your choices…They're not necessarily casual wear."

"My casual wear were those." He pointed at the former fashion show rejects.

"They were too loose on you," she stood to her feet, "Do you not like your figure?"

The wolf glared at the mouse. Tomoyo shrunk her shoulders and eyed Meiling. The eccentric rolled her eyes. The wolf turned away and fisted his hands in his suit pockets, "No. It's alright."

Meiling crossed her arms and huffed, "Can't the wrapping match the gift?"

Eriol ignored her and asked, "Hypothetically, if you had the freedom to dress in your preferred styles, then how would you feel? Would you still be as self-conscious as you are right now?"

He thought for a moment and mumbled, "Yes." The designated stylist and the two cousins on the couch exchanged glances. He continued, changing to a sensible range, "They would know I'm trying."

Tomoyo bent to her knees and stared straight up at Syaoran, "To put effort into your appearance?"

He nodded.

Meiling softened, "You'd be doing it for yourself, right?" She spoke, albeit hypocritically.

"They wouldn't know that."

Tomoyo poked at the toes of her house slippers, "Maybe you would be better suited to consider a hypothetical predicament if I occasion a true story of my own?"

He shrugged. Everybody got comfortable as Tomoyo sat on the floor, pulling her legs close to her. Meiling, gossip-starved, sat on the edge of her seat, while Eriol fidgeted with a throw pillow.

Tomoyo tugged at her white, quilted pencil skirt, "I don't usually dress as nice as this—"

The eccentric one beamed and poised an index finger, "I can attest to her atrocities." Eriol shushed his cousin. She meekly apologized.

The mouse reddened and coughed, "But there was one boy that purposed to be around me, despite my appearance. Since he was so kind, eventually, I harbored deep feelings for him. Those feelings bubbled. I chose my prettiest, lavender dress, lathered my hair with shiny conditioner, patted my face with Dr. Jart+—"

"Nice," Meiling whispered.

The designer nodded and sighed, "Finally, I confessed my feelings. He rejected me."

"Oh," Meiling bit her lip, "I think I know who it is." Meiling flashbacked to school, often catching the rustic Tomoyo and stoic Naoto talking by the lockers. Her crew would enviously huff and glare at the pair when they passed by, but Meiling never thought much of it. She shrugged and concluded—for whatever reason—that some shabby girls can strike out of their league.

Eriol leaned in, "Who?"

Meiling ignored him, "It's Naoto, isn't it?"

Tomoyo reddened again and nodded. Syaoran cursed, "Shit. Naoto?!" He was amazed at the name of Tomoeda Academy's best goalkeeper. Seijuu Academy rarely earned their rightful points whenever Naoto played.

"Damn," Meiling shook her head, "He's hot. I don't blame you, girl."

Eriol coughed, "Pardon me, but Naoto who?"

"My point is," Tomoyo waved away their astonishment, "I don't regret it all. That night, my effort revealed my high consideration for him. I was completely vulnerable because those were my true feelings. It was cathartic to be honest for once."

The stylist may have omitted a few facts about her portrayal. Like, the fact that she had no time to comprehend her rejection, including her prior burden of familial instability and entertaining Eriol, the newcomer to town.

Meiling stood to her feet, "That's right!" She sauntered to Syaoran's preferred pile and gingerly folded his soccer uniform, "Who are you in the first place? That guy on the field or _that_ guy." She scrunched her nose at the grave-pile.

He frowned and huffed, tired of their seemingly directionless, Socratic method. But he answered, anyway, "I dunno. A guy that likes soccer."

Meiling, in an uncommon, but playful tone, smirked, "So, right now, wherever you go, whatever you do, when you're talking to some cute girl, you're that guy on the field."

"Well, no," he scoffed, finally intrigued, wishing to reach them, "That's somebody that I want to be."

Although the quartet engaged in what seemed like an aimless interrogation, sketch-head Tomoyo had an idea of her client's wishes. When she went home that night, the stylist and her clientele exchanged correspondence.

Moyonaise: Check out these Fall runway shows and tell me what you think: Balmain, A.P.C., Alexander McQueen, Alexander Wang, Walter Van Beirendonck

Unruli: Are they supposed to be this outrageous?

Moyonaise: It's haute couture. Not necessarily casual wear. Did you choose?

Unruli: Balmain and Wang

Moyonaise: Really? I thought you'd like A.P.C.

Magisteriol: Perhaps you were thinking of me. I quite like A.P.C.

Meihem: God, what were you thinking, adding Beirendonck?!

Moyonaise: I thought the stripes would entice Syaoran.

Unruli: You thought wrong.

Moyonaise: Okay, okay. How about Vivienne Westwood?

Unruli: Um, I think I like this one, and this one, this one is okay too.

Meihem: Holy shit. Did I actually agree with your fashion choices?

Magisteriol: Incredible. I like the style, too. Look at us, finally bonding. This is quite nice.

Meihem: I feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Meihem: No, never mind, that's just my new tweed jacket. You saw it today, right? Cute, isn't it?

Tomoyo recognized his tastes. In fact, his preferences matched the Li clan. Although Yelan, Syaoran's mother, was absent during dinner due to business appointments; the Li mother-son pair and Daidouji designer duo were previously acquainted among business circles. At countryclub charities, the older Daidouji would nod at Yelan and lean into her daughter's ear, "She's wearing Saab." Yelan would poise her champagne glass over her ruby red lips. Her silver bracelets rolled to the sleeves of her gown. Maroon embellished her bust. The maroon tarnished into a midnight, floor-length gown. At that time, Syaoran faithfully wore his pinstripe suit. At school, Meiling stained her lips with a deep, scarlet or an ebony against her pale skin. Her leather skirts would flare at her knees. Brandywine blouses adorned her slender figure.

Through their correspondence, Tomoyo was able to narrow down Syaoran's taste. He preferred a dark palette. He often chose sharp, monochrome outfits, which showed variations in textures. From his immediate preference of Balmain and Wang, patterns must be limited or not exist at all. His preference for Wang and narrowed-down choices for Westwood showed his love for the leather trend. But that was very befitting for the fall and winter season.

From his color palette and cut preferences, the stylist extracted her client's inclination toward an intimidating, edgy aura. Tomoyo concluded that his preferred style wasn't a longshot from his current style. Both of them were somewhat repellant. His preferred one is simply more intriguing and in fact, massively less atrocious.

The sunset seeped through the stained glass. She sipped her tea and cracked her knuckles. Since Tomoyo lacked familiarity with male croquis, she began from the beginning with the vertical, nine headed template.

…

Sakura's head dipped, nearly missing the desk. She knew it was inappropriate to sleep at school, but first-day jitters had her in a bind. Last night, she aimlessly roamed the house to drain her nervous energy. She scrolled through her resume, added clothes to her online shopping cart, read and re-read manga, and took Kero on two walks. Normally, the first day of school was a breeze. But this year was the year Meiling and Sakura finally interacted at schoolafter two years. Sure, she was a young adult. Time flies. But two years are half of a high school life. Two years to reestablish the cracked foundation of their friendship.

"Wow, you're late, Ms. Li."

Sakura craned her neck at the door, finally out of her reverie. Touya handed the fashionably late student her syllabus. "Oh, yeah? What did I miss? Class introductions?" the girl flipped her silky hair, "Pleeeease."

"Late policy, in fact." Touya pointed to a seat in the front. She rolled her eyes, but sat down anyway. When his back was turned, Meiling fished in her purse and let her hands linger inside.

Sakura's phone, face-up on her desk, began to light up. 'Why is Touya teaching history, anyway?' the preview text flashed.

She unlocked her phone and let her fingers slide over the words, 'History minor. Got the bug from dad.'

'Great. -_-;; Hey, big news! I made my cousin surrender!'

'Poor guy.'

….

"Rich guy, for your information." Meiling pointed a finger and smirked.

Sakura cocked her head to the side, closing her locker, "Pardon?"

"Syaoran. He's got tons of money," she nodded to herself. Proudly, she proclaimed, "He came from the side of the family that rigged some elections."

"Isn't that illegal?"

Meiling waved it away and put an arm around her. "That's in the past. Anyway," she began to lead toward the courtyard, "I told him—I really did it this time. I told him, Syaoran, it's either your uniform or fitness clothes. What's it gonna be? So, guess what he chose?"

They made it outside, and Sakura squinted at the sudden bleached-sun. "I don't get it. What's the point?"

"Oh, shit," Meiling snickered, "Why don't you ask him?" She gestured at the school gate before sauntering to a table, full of some seniors and familiar, childhood friends.

Sakura squinted at the school gate. Behind its bars was a Seijuu soccer player. He had his arms crossed, glaring at his retreating cousin. As Sakura walked his way, he noticed her. He flushed and began panicking.

"Sorry, sir," she smiled sympathetically, "but students are encouraged to report suspicious figures."

"Oh, no, no," he wiped the sweat from his brows, "You see—um. My cousin, sh—she forgot her lunch. It's organic. Perishable. She has to eat it. You can't leave it around or else—"

"It will spoil," she nodded at his rambling. She was right. Poor guy. He wasn't significantly taller than her, but he still hunched his back. He let his bangs shield his tomato face and silently handed her the bento.

Again, she smiled sympathetically at him, but he probably didn't notice under his shield. "That's very sweet. Syaoran, is it?" When he revealed his face from his shield, she stuck her hand through the gate, "I'm Sakura."

He limply shook her hand. He didn't say anything, but simply nodded in reply, probably afraid his voice might crack. She reached into her backpack and pulled out something crumpled, "To thank you for all your trouble…Here."

Still in mild shock and confusion, he mindlessly cupped his hands. She dropped the papers into his hands, "Museum tickets. Two. I got 'em on discount."

"No, no. It's just lunch." He tried to hand it back to her.

"It's from Kero and I. It's for you." She chuckled.

He gasped. She made a mental note of his thick eyebrows, similar to Meiling. They were really cousins.

"Kero's your dog?" He asked and she nodded. He continued, "He's a fussy dog, isn't he?"

They laughed. She noticed his relaxed shoulders. Finally, she asked, "So, you chose the soccer uniform?"

"Oh, this? She told you, didn't she?" He flushed again, but didn't hide it this time, "Yeah—um. Seijuu doesn't allow muscle shirts. So…that's why."

She took a step back and eyed him, "Well, you look nice. Very in your element." Compared to when she first saw him at the library, the green uniform complemented his amber eyes and fit him well. She noticed somebody must have run a comb through his bird's nest, but she kept that to herself.

"Thank you," he shielded his face again and hunched. He stepped back from the bars and stared at his young chauffeur. The bespectacled driver threw a thumbs up and nodded. In turn, he meagerly waved his assurance away. Sakura cocked her head at their exchange. Syaoran turned to Sakura, "Bye." He didn't give her a chance to reply. Instead, he jogged his chauffeur, nearly tripping on air.

* * *

A/N (03/29/15):

Hey, everybody! Welcome back!

I've been rewatching CCS, and WOW, Syaoran is a real spaz...(Not even joking)...But yay! More Syaoran in this chapter! I was channeling What Not to Wear vibes for Syaoran's wardrobe analysis. :p  
It's spring break for me, right now, so I'll try to whip up another chapter. I'm also trying to make it shorter...Less characterization and more action!

Special thanks to:

Mithuna  
XxsTrInGz N' kEyZxX  
Sky Drop  
hazy  
manga girl geek  
Kira4Schiffer

You guys keep me writing for this dying fandom! OTL

See you in the next chapter!


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